Obolus
by Hubristic Chick
Summary: Meet the newest addition to the Squint Squad: Forensic Anthropologist Dr. H.J. Potter. Murder, love, mystery, and death. Nothing out of the ordinary. Booth/Harry/Bren
1. Chapter 1

**OK here it goes guys. This has been a plot bunny that has been bouncing in my head for a coupla months now. Standard disclaimer applies—HP and Bones ain't mine (sigh).**

**Thanks to **_**Wise Pallas Athena **_**who got me motivated again!**

**Without further ado…**

**Obolus **

All but Death, can be Adjusted --

Dynasties repaired --

Systems -- settled in their Sockets --

Citadels -- dissolved --

Wastes of Lives -- resown with Colors

By Succeeding Springs --

Death -- unto itself -- Exception --

Is exempt from Change –

--Emily Dickinson

**Chapter One **

"Sweetie, your new assistant is here."

Angela Montenegro tapped her foot impatiently as she stood in front of a brilliant, beautiful, and rather oblivious forensic anthropologist.

"…"

Temperance Brennan was observing the details of photograph sent from her contacts in China.

It was a grainy, blurred image of what could have been a 3rd century Emperor and for the moment, it was the sole recipient of said brilliant anthropologist's attention.

Her best friend huffed and she nearly stamped her foot. Then Angela's voice and eyes softened.

"Bren, I know this is hard, but Cam is right about this. I'm glad she finally hired someone for you. He's not Zack but…"

She was cut off with a curt, "Fine.'"

Brennan pushed back from her desk and joined her friend at the door, not looking at her.

Angela looked at her retreating back sadly.

She knew Brennan was having a terrible time trying to accept Zack's absence, but it was time for her to work toward healing the gap the young man had left.

Hiring a new, permanent forensic anthropologist was part of that healing.

They headed to the main lab, where Hodgins was steadily ignoring both Cam and the slender man standing next to her.

Sweets was sitting nearby, observing Hodgins and chatting with the man, though as Angela and Brennan walked in he stopped short.

There was an awkward silence before Cam took the initiative.

'Dr. Brennan, Angela, this is the newest addition to our team.' Brennan barely glanced at him, leveling her bright blue gaze at the concrete floor after a brief look.

He was thin, very thin, and tall, probably about 6 feet. His black hair was short and messy, streaked a bit with white, though he couldn't have been more than 25. His face was pale and he wore black slacks with a dark green button up. And nearly hidden by thick lenses were two emerald orbs.

A quiet, tired voice, heavily accented, said, "I'm Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

Angela smiled at him. "I think you've met Dr. Sweets and Jack. This is Temperance Brennan and I'm Angela Montenegro." She held out her hand and shook his, before pulling him into a warm and unexpected embrace.

"Welcome to the squint squad."

A glimmer of amusement played behind the round glasses even as he tried not to flinch from the sudden hug.

Before anyone else could speak, a strident voice and quick beep announced the arrival of Special Agent Seeley Booth.

"Ok guys, we've got a new case, body found in the Library of Congress…"

Cam interrupted him, holding up a hand.

"Seeley, meet Dr. Potter our new _permanent _forensic anthropologist. This is his first day."

Booth looked the new guy up and down. There was something unsettling about him, an aura that was giving Booth a major case of the heebie-jeebies.

He didn't feel bad so to say, just different. He was way too skinny,

(though most of the squints had a similar frame that came from forgetting to eat), looked like he needed some sun, (again, a common trait among the scientists), and had circles under his eyes like nobody's business.

And those eyes were so fucking _green_…

_Seeley Booth, snap outta it._ He shook himself and brought himself out of rather unsettling thoughts. He eyed the man again, this time as an FBI Agent and former soldier.

This guy, he had something about him that Seeley did recognize, beyond that kinda spooky mojo feeling. It screamed military—this guy had seen some serious action.

It was in the way he moved, carefully and hyperaware. In the way his hair was shot with silver too early. In his tired, beautiful eyes.

Seeley would keep an eye on him, if only because his weary demeanor reminded him of the years he spent rotting in gambling hall after gambling hall.

But for now…

"Yeah, nice to meet you, hope you like the headquarters of Brennan's brain trust, blah, blah, blah."

He waved his file, eyebrows lifted.

"Hello people, dead body?"

Hope you guys like it! I'm planning on much longer chapters including—PTSDHarry, romance (harry/booth/bren) Hurt/Comfort and so on…


	2. Chapter 2

"Hi my name is Hubristic Chick and I haven't updated this story for 4 years. Oops." I'll try to do better :") Thank you all for your lovely reviews and encouragement.

Warning: Bit of a gory description of a body.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Harry wasn't sure what to think of the Jeffersonian's forensics lab. It was certainly extensively stocked with some of the best equipment he had ever seen—the raised platform in the middle of the main, warehouse-like lab space was decked out with expensive gadget after expensive gadget, meticulously clean and organized.

Likewise, he knew the best minds in the field were gathered here as well—this team was renowned for its efficiency and constant breakthroughs in the field.

But the people behind the talent…

They were interesting, to say the least.

Potentially dramatic work-relations aside, Harry wasn't entirely sure that he was doing the right thing by taking up a job that might very well put him in the public's eye once more.

After all, Temperance Brennan and her team were far from inconspicuous—between their crime-solving abilities and scholarly achievements, these brilliant people were anything but forgotten members of academia, safely tucked in a dusty bit of library. And for Harry, well, that could bring problems from several different avenues.

But he needed this change, desperately. He needed the distance, the newness of America, the work that would be far more practical, hands on, _distracting_.

The offer to join the Jeffersonian had been accepted without more than a moment's hesitation and now here he was, in Washington D.C. and in the lab of one of the most famous anthropologists of all time.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if she hated his very guts.

_Wonderful start, Potter. And you thought no one could top Snape's instant loathing_. Harry held back a sigh as he accepted the bag Dr. Brennan unceremoniously shoved at his face and only just managing to catch the coveralls she tossed after it as well.

A curt, "Change and meet us outside," had prompted him to return to the staff room to quickly pull on the protective gear. Less than 10 minutes later, he was hurrying outside to a black SUV, trying to figure out the last, stubborn zipper on the suit.

It seemed that he was to jump into the deep-end his first day, with a lot to prove and a boss not so subtly trying to show him the door. Harry could see the turmoil in the famous scientist's eyes, the worry for her in Booth's, the steel in Cam's voice, the hope in Angela's – he was stepping into a role that still had it's predecessor's shadow clinging to it and there would be unavoidable drama.

Mentally shrugging, Harry gathered his determination and patience and got into car, where he found the partners squabbling over driving privileges, a playful row that shut down immediately when he shut his door and buckled up. The short ride was filled with an almost tangible tension.

Brennan tried to cut off Booth's attempts at small talk, but a few questions got through.

"So, Potter, you new to the area? Find somewhere with a good commute? "

"Yes, Agent Booth, to both questions. I found a lovely flat—sorry, apartment, within walking distance of work."

"Hey, call me Booth, most of the squints do. And damn, with housing prices in the area, you found a place within _walking distance_ of the Jeffersonian? Jeez, Bones, what do you guys get paid there and how do I get the FBI to match it."

"Booth, not only should talk of personal nature should be curtailed to after work hours, the salaries of Jeffersonian employees are tailored to their qualifications and..."

"Bones, relax, I was kidding."

Awkward silence reigned before Harry broke it.

"I had a friend who was more familiar with the area recommend the place for me and my family is well off…" He trailed off as awkwardly as he began. Silence reigned again, only broken by Booth's sporadic questions about the case—Dr. Brennan answered those, promptly, with long, technical terms peppering the curt sentences, and an attitude that let the whole car know she wasn't pleased.

Mercifully, the Library pulled into view after a brief spell in the typical D.C. traffic. Getting out, they entered the building through a side door and were led through hall after hall, passing employees, tourists being ushered out, and a few FBI forensics technicians.

Harry had visited the Library of Congress a few times since he had moved to the area; the magical section was quite extensive and he found the collection on necromancy to be immensely useful, if often disturbing.

He had done his undergraduate and graduate work at Oxford, and the collections there were both massive and impressive but this library was unparalleled in its variety and accessibility. His apartment was close enough that walking over was a breeze and he had had quite a few hours to spare between interviews, unpacking, and getting to know his new home; hours that were summarily lost to reading rooms and stacks of esoteric books.

While he was familiar with the Library, Harry didn't recognize the small office space they were led to, tucked far away in an administrative section of the building. Following Doctor Brennan, who had swept through with single-minded determination, he took in the scene with a few short glances.

The office was a glorified cubicle in terms of space, its miniscule size exaggerated by overflowing file cabinets, lopsided stacks of paper, and dusty knickknacks. Only a few people were able to work comfortably at the same time and as they entered, Booth made motions at the forensic team finishing their collections and photographing to head out farther than the crime scene.

The body itself was outside the cubicle, slumped in an alcove next to the office. It appeared to be a normal corpse, with the exception of the arms and chest. Those were…well, certainly not normal.

Bone peeked through decimated bits of skin, showing bare and white next to bloody scraps of flesh, seemingly at random. The chest cavity was partially crushed, while the arms appeared to be stable, though the same scouring of cloth and skin was apparent. What was strange was the lack of damage to the lower half of the body and lack of damage to the bones of the arm.

And, of course, the lack of a head.

Brennan swept by Harry, slipping on blue gloves as she went by. Gracefully, she knelt by the body, brow wrinkling. A few seconds of unusually silent observation later, she moved back and beckoned the now gloved Harry over to the body.

When he moved into place next to her, she abruptly said, "Mr. Potter, age and sex." Harry seemed bemused but mostly unfazed by her sudden demand. He lifted the scraps of cloth over the ribs, glanced over bone markers, and carefully lifted the body's hand.

"Male, late 60s to mid 70s." His tone was calm and sure, professionally detached and confident; for some illogical reason, it irked Brennan. She opened her mouth to drill him on how he had reached that deduction but Booth, who was waiting with his ever-ready note pad, frowned a bit before interjecting, "70s? Kind of old for a murder victim?"

Brennan stiffly confirmed her assistant's assertions before again crouching close for further examination. "Cause of death is unclear. I'd like to get the remains back to the Jeffersonian and begin a more thorough examination." She frowned as she looked on the mangled remnants of flesh and clean bone. "I've never seen damage done to a body in quite this manner before."

Pointing to the bones clearly visible through tattered flesh she continued, "These bones appear undamaged even though in some areas, the flesh has been clearly scraped away from it. In fact…Mr. Potter, hand me the magnifying glass." Her sentence trailed off into a sharp command that brooked no resistance or hesitation.

Unfortunately, Harry's attention was otherwise engaged.

* * *

After his answer to the curt probing of Dr. Brennan, Harry found himself edged out of the way of the remains. Standing up and stepping back, he began to observe the scene.

The marble floor gleamed where it was not covered in dark, congealing blood and the walls were freshly painted, the somber and officious white and dark grey marred by a coat of arterial blood, sprayed in distinct patterns.

Blood.

Arches and pools of darkened red, rusty and dripping.

Feeling his mind begin to slip into dark memories and nightmares, he forced himself to look at the whole of the scene again, casting eyes over the man and the place where he had presumably breathed his last, in a small alcove near a few offices.

Nothing terribly out of the ordinary, besides the remains of course, except—Harry stared at the wall the man was laying next to. Shit. How had he missed that? He had had his suspicions on seeing the body but this confirmed it.

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter?" Brennan sounded annoyed, staring at him from her place hovering above the body's prone legs.

Double shit.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan?"

"Mr. Potter if you find yourself bored-"

"No Dr. Brennan."

He didn't offer any other explanation or platitudes and seemed still preoccupied with whatever he had been thinking about which annoyed Brennan even more.

"I asked you to get the magnifying glass. Twice."

Reaching into the kit, he undid the velcro keeping the instrument attached and handed it over, starting to say, "I'm sorry about that, I —"

He was interrupted by a fiercely frowning Brennan.

"If you can't keep your attention on a crime scene for more than five minutes, what use are you to me?"

Even Booth, carefully watching the two scientists, winced a bit at the harshness of her response.

"Bones-" he began only to find himself interrupted as well.

By this point, she was blinded by sheer annoyance and discomfort, her deeply rooted anger and sorrow over Zack, and her hurt pride over Cam's executive decision to hire her a new assistant without her approval running together into a tangle of nasty emotion. She stood up and faced the two of them, gesturing with the magnifying glass.

"No Booth, this is unacceptable. He can't even complete the most basic of tasks. He shouldn't be here, if Zack…"

Harry thought this had gone on long enough. The violence of the scene was making him feel raw and triggering flash backs to dark times, the tint of malevolent magic pervasive and scraping against his own aura. Brennan's antipathy was nothing to what he had dealt with in the past, but it was annoying.

From what he understood, her last assistant had also been her student, and her friend, and his loss to the lab had been both professional and personal, under traumatic circumstances.

Still, this was reminding him unpleasantly of his time with the Dursley's, unwanted and never meeting their approval. Opening his mouth to speak up for himself, he found his eye caught by something else.

_Oh bugger._

Brennan's tirade ended abruptly as Harry body-checked her, both flying over the marble floor to crash down a few feet from the body, Harry underneath and bearing the brunt of the impact. He immediately, though gently, shoved her off, palming his invisible wand and scanning the hallway for threats.

The wall behind where Brennan had been standing now held a neat, vertical row of wickedly sharp, handless knives. Booth had his gun out, the safety off, and was shouting instructions to the FBI agents milling around.

"I thought this floor was secure! Get a security team up here, NOW! What the hell…"

He headed over to the two squints, eyes searching for any hostiles as he moved in a defensive crouch. Harry had gotten up by now and headed to the beam roughly opposite to where the knives now lay, deeply embedded into the blood-soaked plaster.

This hallway circled one of the smaller reading rooms and was opened up to so that people moving around could look down at the studious visitors, periodically placed columns and beams lending a Greco-roman feel to the open space.

Running a hand over the beam, Harry couldn't sense anything that suggested a booby trap. The attack must have come from across the reading room, on the other side of the hallway. Unless…

He turned back to where Brennan had been standing and breathed out.

Oh, yes. Definitely dark magic. And Harry had a pretty good idea which spell and even, perhaps, the caster.

_Double bugger. _


End file.
